The Third Thursday of Every Month
by Pinkie Tuscadaro
Summary: Amy tries to get up the courage to try for more with Sheldon on their date nights.
1. Chapter 1

I drank some wine, it was what Penny taught me to do when I was sad. Well, was I sad, exactly? Maybe it was more like frustrated. It was Sheldon. I wanted something more from him, some intimacy, some reciprocation. It was the third Thursday of the month and that meant date night. Would it be like it usually was? A dinner out at one of his approved restaurants, stifled talk about his work and mine while I craved to see adoration in his large blue eyes? What did I see? Mild like, passive putting up with the stipulations of the relationship agreement?

I used to be similar to him, keeping relationships and intimacy at arm's length. But now I wanted more and he apparently did not. What could I do to make him see that I had certain needs and desires that were not being satisfied? Was there anything I could do? I drank more wine.

I was a neurobiologist and I understood exactly what the alcohol was doing to my brain. It was lowering inhibitions, it was making me feel more awake but this was a false feeling, because it was depressing various functions, and if too much was drank too fast the essential functions of breathing and heart beat would be suppressed and death would result. But human beings have always like to change the state of their mentation. Alcohol was the social lubricant, and I was in need of this because sober I tended to be uptight and overly critical of my words and actions and the way I was perceived, and it didn't help that socially I was so stunted. Penny was a brilliant social being, laughing her little laugh like bubbles floating up to the top of a glass. She knew when to lean into you and when to give you a critical look, she knew what to do in all moments and I envied her. I envied her effortless beauty and her vivacious personality, and of all people I wished that I could be Penny for just one carefree moment.

I was not Penny. I was Amy, with my sharp nose and mousy brown hair parted in the exact center. I wore layers of clothing because it protected me. I spoke in a monotone, trying to fit my vast scientific knowledge into the casual conversation of the everyday and usually failing miserably. But this accounted for why I liked Sheldon. He could understand everything I said, and he didn't care that the rhythm wasn't quite right. Neither was his.

I heard the knocks on the door and let them play out, despite wanting to break him of this OCD habit of his. Penny had told me that some things you can't change about people, and these idiosyncrasies that Sheldon had fell into that category. Penny was wrong, of course. There were many techniques available for changing behavior.

I opened the door and was again pleased by his beauty. Sheldon was tall and slender, his eyes large and pale blue, his skin pale and perfect. I wanted to ravage him. Why didn't he want to ravage me?

"Hello, Sheldon," I said, stepping aside to let him enter. He nodded formally at me and echoed my greeting as he came inside the apartment.

The restaurant was a bus ride away, and I listened to him talk about work as we travelled over the bumpy roads, or maybe the shocks on the bus were old and in need of being replaced. Every bump jostled me and I could feel the slight electricity when I was forced by lack of decent shocks to lean violently into him.

It was a decent restaurant that featured American fare, and I got an undercooked steak while Sheldon got a crispy chicken pot pie. He drank coke with lime and I had more wine. Added to the wine I had drunk at home it was certainly making an impact. I stared at his lips as he talked, red and supple, and I saw his slightly off center teeth, and I wanted to bite his lips and run my tongue over his teeth. I blinked, feeling the desire much closer to the surface due to the alcohol that was racing up through my bloodstream to lodge itself firmly into my neurons. It wasn't the alcohol itself, of course, but the toxins that alcohol produced in the body. That was why it was called being intoxicated.

"Will you come back to my apartment? I made dessert and we can have coffee," I said, remembering as I said it that he didn't drink coffee, and I knew I would hear it again.

"I don't drink coffee," he said, "but I'll come over for dessert,"

The bus ride back was just as bumpy, and when I was forced to lean into him I stayed next to him for longer, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath his clothes. I wanted to put my hand on the long lean muscle of his thigh, but somehow I didn't dare. What is it that they say about alcohol? Liquid courage? And of course there is in vino veritas. In wine there is truth. Strip away the inhibitions of a person and what are you left with? Their true Id personality? It is all persona and shadow.

I was feeling the wine now, oh boy. I had no inhibitions left. In any normal relationship wanting to kiss your boyfriend wouldn't seem so scandalous, but this was Sheldon. Sheldon could barely tolerate being touched. Did that apply to me, his girlfriend? Was it still a relationship of the mind? But this mind of mine resided in a body that was beginning to crave something more than words and ideas.

Walking up to my apartment I was hyperaware of him. I could smell his light cologne and his anti-bacterial soap and the detergent on his clothes. I could see the way the light reflected off of his irises. I could see the delicate blue veins in his hands.

I went to the fridge to retrieve the dessert. He sat on the couch, having already shrugged out of his jacket. I brought over the plates with the pie and the whip cream, although the wine and the meal had filled me up and I wasn't hungry for this food. I pushed my plate to the side and watched him eat.

He was done and shifting his weight in that way that I knew meant he was ready to go. I wanted something from him tonight, and the wine had eroded my reason. Couldn't I try for just a little bit more?

I went over to him, not knowing what to do or how to initiate anything. Why did this have to be so hard? Despite the wine and the false warmth of the courage it provided there was nothing I could do. I watched him put his jacket on and stand up, ready to go.


	2. Chapter 2

It was the third Thursday again, and I was drinking wine again. Every date night was a time to try to…push things, I supposed. Did I want Sheldon to be the one to push things? Sometimes I did. It would be easier that way.

I sipped my wine and paced around my small kitchen, glancing at the clock. I thought about how unknowable Sheldon was. He talked a lot, but it was all about things, facts, theories. It was never about him or what he thought about things. There was no aspect of reflection in his speech, and maybe that was because he didn't reflect, he didn't respond emotionally to anything.

I downed the rest of my wine, it was a white, a vintage and color that Penny had recommended, and she was the expert. It tasted fine, mild, and hopefully would not produce a headache. I was being cruel to Sheldon in my thoughts, thinking he didn't respond emotionally to anything. After all, we were in this relationship because he had initiated it, sort of.

I rinsed my wine glass, swirling the tap water like wine at the bottom of it. I could resolve to try one thing with him tonight. Just one thing. I could kiss him. The worst thing that could occur as a result would be that he would pull away. And it occurred to me that despite being in my early 30's, I was grappling with problems that may be better suited to a 12 or 13 year old. When I was 12 or 13 physical intimacy with anyone was very much out of the question.

I sat on the couch, feeling the slight twisting feeling in my viscera as I waited for him. He was so beautiful. Penny was the most gorgeous creature I had ever encountered, and somehow my boyfriend was much better looking than hers. That was funny. Leonard was not unattractive, I wasn't saying that. It was simply that Sheldon was better looking.

Sheldon was very attractive, but I understood that he was oblivious to this fact. I wished that I could be as oblivious about my own looks as he was about his. Maybe it was easier for beautiful people to be oblivious. I had been very critical in the past about my looks, and I was trying to stop. There was no way to change it, and because my hair was duller than Penny's and my eyes smaller, my nose sharp and long, my lips thin, that didn't matter.

I bounced my foot up and down, my nervousness evident in my restless gestures. Would I have the courage to try and kiss him, to risk him stiffening up and pulling away? I didn't know what kind of courage I might possess.

I thought of how we both were at 13 years old. I was in the advanced classes, and took many classes at the high school. I ate lunch alone and did everything alone. I had no friends and certainly no boyfriends. Sheldon was in college at that age, so wrapped up in string theory that his lack of friends and girlfriends made little to no impression on him. His intellectual peers, adults with genius level I.Q.'s, were no doubt impressed with a 13 year old wunderkind but that would be as far as anything went.

There was a part of me then and a part of me now that wanted that other life I saw. That life of laughing with friends and kissing boys by lockers. I was so locked out of anything like that back then, but now I had friends and I had a boyfriend and I had my work in neurobiology. In a way, I had it all.

I heard the beginning of the series of knocks and I felt that jolt, that bit of electricity in my cells that meant I would see him soon. As soon as a few moments. It played out, and I still felt the compulsion to curb this behavior. I wanted to change it not because it really bothered me, but just because I had the tools to do it. There were ways in which I wanted to change Sheldon, but where was the line between change and growth?

I opened the door, balancing a bit precariously on my high heels. Penny suggested them, she said high heels make a woman taller, thinner, and more sexy. Sheldon stood in the hallway, his large blue eyes looking down. His hair was getting longer and was brushed to the side. He wasn't wearing the usual T-shirt over a long sleeved T-shirt. That was how children dressed. He was in a nice shirt and tie and nice pants because the restaurant for tonight had a dress code. He did look nice but I knew that Penny helped to dress him as she had helped to dress me. His shirt was a pale blue, and the tie was a modern pattern that picked up the color of the shirt, and his eyes, perfectly. If left to his own devices he would have worn something with plaid or some other odd geometric pattern.

"Hello," I said.

"Hi," he said, and I noticed the slight Texas drawl. There were only a few words where his drawl was so noticeable, and hi was one of them. I liked it, partly because I don't think he noticed it.

"Are you ready?" he said, not willing to come in. I felt in my tiny purse for my key, and my emergency money and credit card, cell phone. My leaving the apartment checklist. It was all there and I nodded and followed him down the hall and to the stairs.


End file.
